


Carpe DM

by botanyclub



Series: Let's Get to the Bottom of This [2]
Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: 5K words of anne living her best y/n life, F/M, I’M DUMB AND THIS IS DUMB BUT DAMNMIT I HAD FUN, crack but make it unnecessarily sentimental, shout out to yo gatti because it does in fact go down in the DMs, this isn’t the epilogue i just have no self-control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanyclub/pseuds/botanyclub
Summary: In which Gilbert finds out about Anne's secret fan account.(a prequel/sequel to my girlfriend, who lives in canada)
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: Let's Get to the Bottom of This [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774954
Comments: 44
Kudos: 288





	Carpe DM

**Author's Note:**

> **me:** my secret headcanon is that anne is DEEP in the bowels of stan twitter. she's out here running an update account and posting fancams under replies to popular tweets. queen of gilbert promo!!!! the devil works hard, but anne shirley-cuthbert works harder
> 
>  **withlovegilbert (rebelarkey):** IT'S CAN'T BE A HEADCANON IFYOU'RE THE AUTHOR! IT'S JUST CANON

It is a rabbit hole for Anne, who has problems with fixation as it is; once she latches onto something, she latches on _hard_. It's not in her nature to do anything half-heartedly and almost entirely, this is a by-product of distance (their forced separation as a consequence of stupidity and idiocy, his and hers respectively; they are two peas in a pod, Anne and her beloved Gilbert Blythe). But still, even Anne can admit when something she’s doing has gotten entirely out of hand. 

Her descent into madness starts as innocently as this: 

**[cheesydoritos57]:** i’ve watched this commercial like 98380 times his eyes are so browni think i’m in love. I NEED TO KNOW HIS NAME AND WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT TO LOOK LIKE THIS (15 likes, 0 dislikes)

Anne stares at the comment left underneath the video, having watched it 98381 times herself, and feels compelled to respond. Sets up a YouTube account specifically to this end.

 **[withanE]** His eyes are hazel, actually, and his name is Gilbert Blythe!

She pats herself on the back for a job well done, closes the browser, and doesn’t think about it again for the rest of the day; has pancakes for breakfast and writes an op-ed for the Gazette about reproductive rights by noon.

When she returns the next morning for her daily ritualistic viewing as a substitute for his presence, Anne receives an influx of notifications in relation to her response. Different combinations of the heart eyes and praise hands emojis, a few comments asking about his social media handles, and threads of investigations people have launched in order to suss out more information about Gilbert (is he single? What’s his birth chart? I wonder what he looks like underneath that gray sweater? All important intel in determining whether or not he is worthy of “stanning”.) 

“Oh my.” She imagines it is the same kind of rush one gets when discovering an entirely new universe, whose language and customs and inhabitants she is still just getting to know. Anne feels incredibly overwhelmed, but energized and bright-eyed despite this. 

The world of Fandom is a doozy to behold. 

There is a learning curve, of course, but she adapts fairly quickly. Prior to this, Anne isn’t on any social media herself, simply because she’s not sure how it works or if it’s even something that appeals to her in the first place. All of Anne’s life fits so succinctly inside Avonlea; she finds little purpose in posting about more of the same to a group friends she sees so frequently as it is, although a particularly beautiful patch of sky or cherry blossoms in the spring is enough to give her pause and consider sharing out for the enjoyment of all. Anne is a creature of nuance and introspection, and so shies almost reflexively away from what she views to be a shallow reflection of the world. 

But shallow or not, Anne _does_ like the way the internet provides her a window into Gilbert’s life, who hops on every now and again to share an update on a role or amplify a cause that he thinks to be important. She finds it annoying not being able to interact with his posts, but doesn’t want to expose herself as keeping tabs on his well-being. Not after Anne had made the difficult personal decision of letting Gilbert go. 

But it occurs to her then: online, Anne could be anyone. And more importantly, she could be no one. If she wants to tell Gilbert she loves him and that the state of California should ban him from ever wearing fedoras with scarves, then she very well can and have it bear little to no consequence! Gil would be none the wiser, figuring she’s just another fan in a sea of adoring fans, while Anne pines openly and has the support of others as she does it. It is a win-win solution until the day that it isn’t. 

+

Anne is scrolling through her timeline when she comes across a poem she likes, an allegory to death evoking pastoral imagery and pathos. Without a second thought, she privately messages it to Gilbert, having gone over two years now without any acknowledgement or response. His big heart followed fans indiscriminately in the beginning, which terrified the hell out of Anne when she got the notification only to later realize it wasn’t due to anything personal or particular. Twitter is a platform he very rarely checks and so Anne is fairly confident she is sending things into the void. More often than not, she uses their DMs as a brain dump for topics she wants to further explore in their letters. 

Anne sits down to do just that. She clicks on their message thread and only takes a minute to admire his picture, so distracted she almost doesn't see the appearance of dots at the bottom to indicate that he’s typing.

Anne very nearly catapults her cellphone out the window when she notices.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Thank you for sending this. I really needed to read these words today.

"What the-?"

The best thing to do for the sake of anonymity would be to ignore him and move on. This is probably one of those rare and few times Gil is actually checking his inbox, and it’s only a matter of minutes before he goes back to forgetting this platform exists. But try as she might, Anne’s curiosity gets the better of her, and the need to comfort him grows stronger in conjunction as well. 

**withanE:** You don’t have to go into specifics, but I’m here if you want to talk.

 **withanE:** Sometimes, I find that unloading your burdens on a stranger can feel freer when there’s not as much history or baggage attached.

 **withanE:** But while reading this back, I realize it sounds like I’m emotionally manipulating you into spilling the beans. Just so you’re aware, you are equally as free to ignore me and move on, or find another stranger who doesn’t follow your official Twitter account in which to confess. Perhaps a nice old man playing competitive chess in a park? I’d imagine they would have the patience to be an excellent set of ears and wizened enough to offer you first-rate advice.

 **withanE:** Anyways, sorry, this turned out to be just a long-winded way of saying that I’m here for you, always. 

The sentences spill out of her fingertips before Anne can really take a moment to think. She’s ridiculous, really. The wordiest wordsmith in the whole entire world. There’s no way Gilbert will confide in her now, given that she’s proven she’s simply incapable of shutting up.

"I've ruined it, haven't I?" Anne mumbles miserably to herself.

But wonders never cease, she sees the three dots appear once again. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** You bring up a good argument. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe: (** Or maybe that’s just the emotional manipulation working)

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** But my dad actually died around this time, two years ago. I was thinking about him when I came across your message. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Which gives me an even deeper respect for poets, who are better at conveying my emotions than anything I could ever hope to express.

Anne smacks her head in disappointment. _How could I possibly forget?_

**withanE:** I’m sorry to hear about your dad. My own passed away fairly recently, too. 

**withanE:** But I’d like to think he’s still with me, sometimes, when the wind blows past and smells particularly sweet. Or when I catch a glimpse of him in a store window, beckoning me inside, to find some lovely trinket or other he’s picked out that’s suited just to my taste. 

**withanE:** Maybe yours is the same? 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I think I feel him, too. Especially on the road or looking out on the wings of a plane.

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** He loved to travel more than anything else. We did a lot of it together before he finally went under.

**withanE:** Take a trip! Drive up the coast! Go somewhere, even if it’s just to the park. 

**withanE:** Take some time to process your grief. Honor his memory. Take care of yourself. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Maybe run into the old, wizened chess player I’ve heard so much about?

Anne snorts.

**withanE:** Haha, hilarious.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** No but actually, thanks for listening. I think I’ll take your advice. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Thank you -

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I don’t see your name listed anywhere on your account? 

Anne blushes down to the tips of her toes. He'd opened up her profile in search of a name, when Anne's feed is truly littered with just her favorite pictures of Gil and the occasional (read: frequent) thirst tweet about his ass. In her defense, he’s got a great one. 

She comes up with one of the top of her head. The name of her main character in an otherwise secret novel.

**withanE:** Cordelia

 **withanE:** You can call me Cordelia

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Then thank you, Cordelia. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** You’ve really helped me a lot.

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I mean that sincerely.

+

She waits two days for the dust to settle before continuing to DM him things that make her laugh, threads she finds useful, or think pieces that make her brain spin just trying to digest the thesis. Every now and again, Anne will think back to their exchange as her finger hovers over his name, but ultimately decides on it being nothing, merely a random chance encounter. Just Gilbert being sad and checking Twitter to get his mind off of things. She doesn’t expect this will be a problem she’ll have to handle often or ever again.

_Famous last words._

Anne is in the middle of helping Marilla bake a pie when she receives a message out of the blue. A grey notification box with his name emblazoned across the top of the screen.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I saw an old man today and it reminded me of you

“AHH!”

Marilla jumps, nearly puncturing through the pie crust in trying to score it with her fork. “Anne? What in the heavens was that scream for?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing, Marilla!” Anne is quick to deny. “Just remembered a spot of homework I’ve got to do. May I be excused?” 

“I dare say you’ve been more of a hindrance than help today, so go on ahead.”

Anne presses a kiss to the older woman’s cheek, sprints up the stairs easily while taking two steps at a time. She opens the message on the way to her room, just to be sure it’s really from him and not a troll account with a name only one or two letters apart. The first thing she does is lock the door behind her. then fires up her laptop because she needs to hear the tapping sounds of her keyboard in order to craft the perfect reply.

Again, the voice in the back of her mind suggests that perhaps ignoring him is the best course of action. She can't keep talking to him forever without realistically risking exposure. But it’s been _years_ since Anne Shirley-Cuthbert has done anything close to paying him no mind and plus, she is especially desperate for Gilbert’s words having spent all week awaiting his letter in the mail.

So, in several moments of weakness, she cheats and responds.

**withanE:** Just any old man? Or was this one special? 

She hopes that in the minute and a half it took to dash upstairs toward her room, Gilbert hasn’t already given up waiting and logged off for the week. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Was filming an ad for something (top secret, need to know basis, I would tell you but then I’d have to kill you) and my counterpart was this awesome octogenarian from Luxembourg, near Garnich. Not quite a chess player, although he did impart some advice about forever stamps. 

**withanE:** Which is?

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** That you shouldn’t buy them. The price of stamps has not changed significantly throughout the years.

**withanE:** Interesting . . .

 **withanE:** Follow-up question then

 **withanE:** Are forever stamps refundable?

 **withanE:** It seems that I’ve unfortunately lost a significant return on my investment.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Why did you buy them in the first place? How many letters could you possibly be sending? 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Unless you are also an octogenarian, in which case, my apologies, send as many letters as you’d like.

**withanE:** How rude???? Plenty of people my age send letters??????

(Anne almost types: _Excuse me, Gilbert Blythe? You’re the one I’m sending letters to in the first place?_ But thankfully remembers not to blow her cover.)

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Genuine question for you, Cordelia

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** But what would possess a girl to send someone a letter?

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Not a love-letter, per se. (At least, I don’t think it was one.)

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** But just a regular letter

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Filled with regular things

She nearly falls out of her seat. Could Gilbert be asking about _her_? Not Cordelia her, but the real her - Anne Shirley-Cuthbert her. 

And if he is, does she answer truthfully? That sending Gilbert letters is all just a mad, roundabout way of ensuring he doesn’t forget her?

Her head spins trying to think up a response, deferring to her heart, which sends something much too close to home.

**withanE:** I think all letters are inherently love-letters

 **withanE:** Because they’re written from the heart. 

**withanE:** You don’t have the ability to backspace and delete like you do online or over text. 

**withanE:** It’s tougher to self-edit so only the truest sentiments come out 

**withanE:** So I would say that whoever wrote to you,

 **withanE:** even if it isn’t written explicitly in your letter,

 **withanE:** probably loves you. 

“More than you could ever know.” 

+

Running a fan account is a lot tougher than people think.

Anne spends much of her day curating content for her feed, keeping up with casting news and religiously saving screenshots and BTS photos from set. Gilbert’s meteoric rise to fame has garnered her once tiny account more attention than she’s used to, back when the fandom was just her and three dozen others who mained other people. 

It’s all a bit voyeuristic, watching Gilbert live his life from afar. To know where he is and who he’s with and what he’s doing just by following the trail of posts from fans in areas nearby. To the best of her abilities, Anne tries to form a blockage against certain aspects of his life. She never comments on his love life if she can help it, avoids posting pictures of him and Winnie unless it's in an official capacity, and turns her ears away from rumors of his alleged debauchery. 

All the while, Gilbert continues to message her. Random thoughts that pop into his head or reactions to tweets and articles she sends his way. Try as Anne might, she cannot break off their communications, drunk off the pleasure of seeing his name in her inbox with such clockwork regularity. True, she and Gilbert still trade letters, but there is something to be said about the instant gratification of being online, a layer of immediacy that can’t be replicated in analog. It is different being able react to things in real-time, to tell him the minute something comes to mind instead of bottling up and dusting it off when it is her turn to pen their exchange.

Anne falls in love all over again, to a different side than the introspective Gilbert she’s used to. To the silly Gilbert, the “what is a moot?” Gilbert, and the Gilbert who enjoys memes and TikToks that gets lost in translation when she thinks to describe them in letters. There is less pretense in his knee-jerk reactions, not that she thinks Gilbert is being disingenuous outside of these messages. She just thinks it's nice to receive them, is all.

+

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Tell me about yourself Cordelia

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** You remind me so much of somebody else that I know 

Anne has been staring at the same two messages for the better half of the afternoon, pacing back and forth worrying a thumbnail between her teeth.

Normally, she would turn to Diana for advice, immediately ring up her bosom friend and ignore the five hour time difference because this is clearly an emergency. But Anne hasn’t told anybody about her secret fan account, almost entirely due to embarrassment. She would rather keep this level of devotion under wraps, especially considering Anne actually knows Gilbert in real life. Could hit him up any time, but chooses to spend her days keeping tabs on him on the internet. It’s madness, is what it is; she admits this to herself.

Eventually, when the silence goes on for too long and it’s obvious that she’s online from the way she retweeted a photoset of him earlier, Anne feels compelled to reply.

**withanE:** What exactly did you want to know?

She hopes it's nothing intrusive.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Anything really. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Who you are, where you’re from.

**withanE:** I would rather you tell me about this girl. 

**withanE:** At least, I’m assuming it’s a girl. The one whom I remind you of.

 **withanE:** That way, I can confirm or deny whatever shared likeness you think we possess

It seems easier to deny his claims than create a whole new identity.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** She’s a childhood friend. I grew up with her on the Island. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Redhead, like a new copper penny. I’ve always been fascinated by the color of it.

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Tugged on her braid once in the hallway to get a closer look and paid for it dearly when she whacked me over the head with the first thing she could reach. 

**withanE:** Which was?

Anne's heart clenches when recalling the memory. She hadn't held back any of her strength and he still wanted to be friends, which should have been definitive proof of his absolute adoration.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** A slate. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** She’s got a real temper, obviously. But it’s mostly deserved when she directs it towards other people. I’ve never seen anyone care so much about the comfort and welfare of others.

**withanE:** So she’s got a big heart?

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** The biggest, I suspect. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Second only to her brain, which has to be huge to support that big imagination of hers. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Sometimes, when she talks, it’s like I can actually hear in colors. 

**withanE:** That’s quite the skill.

 **withanE:** Is it useful in any way?

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Well she wants to be a writer.

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Or, it’s more accurate to say that she’s already a writer, but wants to be published someday. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** And I know that she will be. It’s only a matter of time. 

**withanE:** And this girl

 **withanE:** Is she a friend?

Gilbert takes longer to respond to this, but the message is brief.

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** She’s something all right

And he leaves it at that. 

+

Despite her best attempts to disconnect from online speculation, sometimes Anne can’t help but follow along the news in her various Gilbert group chats. 

**GilsSmilex:** YALL

 **GilsSmilex:** MY IRL FRIEND WAS AT THE RECORDING FOR THE CANDID WITH CANDACE 

**GilsSmilex:** AND GIL SAID SMN ABOUT HAVING A GF IN CANADA WHO WRITES HIM LTETERS 

**GilsSmilex:** A GIRLFRIEND!!!!!

**blythesssG:** WAT

**gilsgirlfriday:** wait why is that cute

**bilbertglythe:** let’s pour one out ladies 

**bilbertglythe:** our mans is officially off the market

**blythesssG:** NOT SO FAST!

 **blythesssG:** how do we know he means girlfriend and not just a friend that’s a girl

**GilsSmileX:** mY FRINED SAID

 **GilsSmileX:** THAT HE LOOKED DOPEY AS FUCKKCCKCK WHEN HE SAID IT

 **GilsSmileX** :SO IF THEYRE NOT ALREADY SMASHING

 **GilsSmileX:** THEN HE DEFINITETLY HE WANTS TO

Anne exits swiftly from the chat window, unable to process much of what she’s reading and especially not in real time with so many other voices chiming in. She shuts down her computer and goes to lie down, pulling the covers of her duvet up and over her head so that when she thrashes around violently, the layers cushion her movements marginally.

Could it be true? Did Gilbert really say that aloud?

The mention of letters certainly gives credence to the story. But Anne is lacking context and doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions. She also doesn’t want to message him and demand to know the truth because it would 1) ruin whatever tenuous relationship they’ve developed online over the last year and half and 2) potentially lead Anne to exposing herself trying to justify why it’s so important he spell it out to her what exactly he meant by “girlfriend.”

After effectively stewing over these words for the rest of the day, periodically checking Twitter and seeing the chaos it’s created, Anne comes to the conclusion that she’ll need to watch the interview before making any hasty decisions. It is a surprisingly logical response, given her propensity for flying off the handle. She almost wants somebody to praise her for it, even though she can’t talk about it to Diana and certainly won’t mention anything to Marilla. 

Gilbert remains much of the same on social media though, which makes sense three days later when his segment on The Candid with Candace airs without mention of his alleged girlfriend at all. Just funny anecdotes from filming and the prerequisite promo of _Wuthering Heights._ Anne jumps to turn off the TV when Josie gets back from her sorority’s fundraiser, burning red in the face like she was caught doing something illicit. 

“What are you being so weird about?” the tall blonde asks, pulling her hair out of its immaculate messy bun. She asks this hypothetically and without expecting a response, already disappearing down the hall and up the stairs. 

Still, Anne calls after her: “Nothing! And I’m not being weird!” 

She swallows what she recognizes to be disappointment and returns to her phone. Already, she’s getting messages about the glaring omission on TV.

(As a wedding gift, Gilbert will one day play her the clip that started it all.)

+

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I’ve been thinking recently

**withanE:** This sounds vaguely like a threat

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Haha

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** No but really, I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the concept of love

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** And unrequited love

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** And if unrequited love is a legitimate form of love?

**withanE:** Very philosophical

 **withanE:** Are you asking for yourself? Or for a friend? 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** For a role.

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** And also maybe for myself, idk. 

**withanE:** Well tell me what you’ve puzzled out so far and we can take it from there

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I was thinking about love and how different people define it

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** For example, how parental love is a form of unrequited love - you don’t love to be loved, but to serve your baby’s needs

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** But in romantic love, what if their need as it relates to you is to not receive or return your love?

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Does that mean that by continuing to extend that love, you are directly violating their wishes, and simply perpetuating self-love under the pretense of it being unrequited? 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Any what about love that is returned, but not quite reciprocated? The ‘I love you more than you could ever love me’ scenario? In a sense, could that also be considered unrequited? Or, because you love each other to a certain extent, it’s in a league of its own?

**withenE:** That’s a lot of thoughts being thunk. 

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** What about you?

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** What do you think?

**withanE:** I think . . . and not to sound like a total cop-out . . 

**withanE:** But I think love is messy

 **withanE:** and cannot be defined 

**withanE:** We try to put all of these labels on it, to classify it and study it as if it is a tangible feeling in which science and data apply

 **withanE:** But at the end of the day, love is either there or it isn’t

 **withanE:** And also, I think it is easy not to honor how we feel

 **withanE:** To have others explain it away or, worse, do it to onto ourselves

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** What if that same reasoning can be used as an excuse for bad behavior?

**withanE:** Then think of love more as a force than an individual feeling.

 **withanE:** You can do things _in the name of_ love, but at the end of the day your actions are your own

 **withanE:** Love as a force,

 **withanE:** Yes, there can be unhealthy forms and harmful manifestations of it

 **withanE:** But they are the consequences of love, rather than love in and of itself

 **withanE:** Am I making sense or just confusing you even more?

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I’m not sure what I think

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** I’m not even certain I know how to read

**withanE:** Here’s my philosophy as it relates to unrequited love

 **withanE:** If you believe that it is love, and feel it strongly in your heart

 **withanE:** then call it for what it is and own it wholly as your own

**TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Do you speak from your experiences, Cordelia?

 **TheRealGilbertBlythe:** Have you ever been in love? 

**withanE:** Once, when I was young, and have yet to fall out of it

(Later that afternoon, Gilbert Blythe gets The Call.)

+

Anne should quit social media, considering she is living under the same roof as her ult and especially when she’s become the center of the Internet’s obsession. Shamelessly, she continues to save pictures of them when it pops up on her timeline, breaking her streak of silence in favor of retweeting the photosets where she thinks they both look cute. Against her better judgement, Anne starts Twitter searching her name (both with and without the E) just to survey what people think, but predictably gets mad when it isn’t the correct opinion to have. She should stop reading fanfic and using it as the reason she fists her sheets late at night, muffling moans and his name into the folds of her pillow. Should definitely not start writing her own because she thinks the way she’s portrayed in others’ chronicles is nothing short of character assassination (Anne still gets dicked down in her own stories though, because goddammit she’s _manifesting_ ). 

There are a lot of things Anne Shirley-Cuthbert should do. But like a fool and an optimist, she does precisely none of it. 

Gilbert, predictably, uncovers her secret soon enough.

But there is much sweetness to be had in between now and then.

+

Principal filming wraps up in October and Anne’s _boyfriend_ (the thought of it still sends a thrill through her spine) finally has the time (because he's always had the money) to come visit her at Queens. She drags him around campus pointing out her favorite study spots and haunts, eventually ending up in one of the courtyard filled with less foot traffic and noise. The weather outside is crisp, like biting into an apple, and accentuated nicely with the warm color palette of fall. Gilbert’s back is to a tree while Anne leans against him, situated between Gilbert's thighs and bracketed comfortably by his arms.

She shivers whenever his breath ghosts softly against her ear, body erupting in gooseflesh despite the furnace of his body. 

“I’ve missed you, Carrots.” 

She laughs. “You’ve already said that twice today.” 

“Well I can’t say it enough.” Gilbert presses a kiss into the side of her head.

Anne sighs, content. Four weeks was hard without his touch. 

They settle into a cozy conversation after that, Anne asking after baby Delphine while Gilbert prods her on the name of her novel. 

“It hasn’t got one yet.”

“Well what about your main character’s name? Surely that’s not too much of a spoiler."

After a year’s worth of needling, Anne decides to throw him a bone, figuring this one’s easy enough and not too revealing of an answer. It is, however, revealing in a completely different sense.

“Cor-” Anne realizes halfway through that this is definitely a mistake. “-delia.” 

“Cordelia?” he parrots, testing out the name on his tongue, swirls it around and lets it aerate like wine. Anne can’t see him, her body facing more towards the courtyard, but in her mind’s eye Gilbert is surely making some expression of confusion with his brows, knitting them together like a barrier to keep from letting his train of thought slip. Anne can swear she hears the cogs turning while she tries her best not to panic. Her lover is smart and will soon connect the dots.

As if to aid him, time and space stand still. She knows it it in the way the wind blows, slowly, dislodging leaves from trees that seem somehow inert, reacting merely to gravity rather than continuing on the looping descent they're fated for.

“Anne.” He says her name, her favorite word in the world, at the precise moment everything finally clicks into place. “Let me see your phone for a minute, please.” 

She stiffens, almost visibly so. Gilbert can definitely feel the tension rigidifying her limbs and lower-back. She also briefly contemplates playing it dumb, to see how long Anne can delay her eventual demise, before deciding to meet her own fate head-on.

She fishes around in her coat pocket and reluctantly hands over the device. 

Gilbert’s hands are steady and sure when he moves to unlock her phone, surmising in less than a second Anne’s passcode, which is set to 1234. Perhaps, starting now, she should be more diligent with her security. But then again, not many people know her and utilizes it the way Gilbert Blythe does.

He finds, easily enough, the little blue app he is looking for buried in a folder labeled Random, embarrassingly alongside four other of her social media accounts. Anne can’t bear to watch, but can’t afford to look away from his exploration either. She tracks the way he moves automatically to her inbox, their message thread buried four group chats down since it’s been a few days since they last talked about abstraction.

He clicks on his name and scrolls up through their conversations. Then taps on her profile and scrolls down through her feed.

The culmination of years’ worth of devotion is sitting all on one page. Anne’s pinned tweet is a thread of screenshots she’s compiled where his forearms looked the hottest, surprisingly not even the most embarrassing thing on display. Little pieces of Anne chip away as he mines her Twitter account with relish. Gilbert has so much content to choose from when it comes to serving the final blow. Tweets upon tweets of her yelling about BTS pictures from _Swan Song_. A quote RT with heart eyes on instances in which Gilbert looks at Anne with all of the love in the world. Refutations of their relationship being fake, a dissertation on the ways they make a superior couple. 

It is entirely too much to ask that Anne maintain her composure, redder than if you were to drain all of autumn’s colors to compare.

“I can explain,” she says hastily, putting a hand over his own. Anne tries ineffectually to push the incriminating evidence away, naively following the philosophy of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. But Gilbert doesn’t allow it, knocking her grip aside and holding it down with the hand not currently occupied with fact-finding. All the while, she doesn’t dare turn around in order to see his face. “I wanted to be your hundredth like on a post but couldn’t because I didn’t have an account and then one thing led to another until suddenly I became your biggest fan page online.”

“I can see that,” he says, which doesn’t give her much insight one way or the other. He’s being purposefully cryptic in order to wind her up.

It works when he clicks on the link to her profile on AO3.

“Gil, stop,” she whines, desperation evident in her voice. “I’m already embarrassed enough without you reading my fanfics.” 

“Too late, it’s already loading.”

Anne belatedly whips around and forms a frantic barricade with her hands, blocking his view from what is surely the final strand keeping her tethered to the mortal realm. Desperate times call for desperate measure; Anne makes him a deal. “I promise to suck you off tonight if you forget that any of this ever happened.” 

It is, perhaps, the dirtiest thing she has ever said aloud (in real life, that is, and not in the fanfic he is currently reading the summary of - HOLY SHIT ABORT). Which is enough to give him pause because Gilbert isn’t _not_ interested in the thought. But “no, sorry, you’re just too cute when you’re embarrassed.” He pulls her hands aside and grants her a searing kiss on the lips. Anne throws her all into it, begs entrance with her tongue and hopes to distract him for long enough to forget about the fic, but Gilbert is smarter than that and eventually tears away. He does, at least, look properly aroused.

“I’ll tell you what,” his breath ghosts softly against her cheek, visible like smoke in the cold, October air. “I won’t read this for now, but you have to tell me what’s going on _Cordelia_.” 

Anne flinches at the false name. “What exactly did you want to know?” 

“The real reason why you did it and why you stuck around for so long. You even talked to me as Cordelia over this whole entire summer.” 

“Can you blame me?” she asks, combing nervous fingers through her hair. She might never get used to such vulnerability in front of Gilbert, having gotten back into the routine of writing letters while apart. “As Cordelia, I could love you and it didn’t have to be so convoluted. I let you go to California three years ago but wasn’t strong enough to forget you. I had to put on an act for people, to avoid word getting back to you that I was hurting by myself. So thus, Cordelia was invented. Or rather, my social media handles were. Cordelia came along later, when you had the _audacity_ to DM me.”

Gilbert chuckles and pulls her close. “If it’s an apology you’re expecting, then you’re going to be very disappointed.”

She rolls her eyes. “Anyways, social media gave me a good outlet to miss you, to love you, and talk about you openly. And then it became fun and why I’m still tweeting to this day.” 

“Did you ever feel bad about lying to me at all?” There is accusation in his voice, but without the usual heat. It is more curiosity than anything, because Gilbert begrudges her nothing. “And all of those times I practically told you I loved you, loved _Anne_ while thinking I was confiding in Cordelia? How could you have known that whole time and still think it wasn’t real?”

She pouts, put out by this retreading of the times when she foolishly thought that Gilbert Blythe didn’t love her. When she knows now that he loves her the most in the world. “You know how my mind is. It’s a powerful thing.” 

Gilbert, with his own one-track mind when it comes to comforting his girlfriend, kisses the pout off of her and whispers a secret in her ear.

“You know, I’m kind of glad it turned out that you two are the same. Makes me feel better for all the times I came close to emotionally cheating on my Anne-girl.”

+

Later that night, when they are alone in his hotel room, Gilbert will recreate the scenarios almost word for word from her writing. Memorizes the sentences like he would memorize lines for a scene, repeating them aloud before he calmly performs the actions.

Anne writhes beneath him, but doesn’t once complain. 

She’s manifested this, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Treat this like a choose your own adventure and decide whether or not you want to consider this canon in the _my girlfriend, who lives in canada_ universe. I am but a humble fanfic writer who lives to conjure up your greatest and worst ideas. 
> 
> Anywho please validate me and the amount of time I spent on WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN DRABBLE + my galaxy brain when I came up with The Candid with Candace. 
> 
> also tag urself, i'm GilsSmileX.


End file.
